


You Could Be Impossibly Alone

by SuperEffective (bearsquares)



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Cunnilingus, Non-binary character, One Night Stands, Other, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Tongue Piercings, Vaginal Sex, malasada dates, mild violence, older gen protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsquares/pseuds/SuperEffective
Summary: Veteran Trainer Harvest prepares to leave Alola after a brief trip through the islands, but a chance encounter the night before gives them some second thoughts.There's a slight chance of more chapters...





	You Could Be Impossibly Alone

**Author's Note:**

> So, Harvest was the name I gave Lyra/Kotone in HG/SS for a Nuzlocke run and they kind of took on their own mannerisms and identity. They're still fairly neutral and of age, so I drafted them in for some self-indulgent Guzma smut. Don't mind me~

****

Hau’oli was already beginning to light up against the dimming sky when they finally made it to the beach. They hadn't come to the islands to feel at home, but many parts of Alola had Harvest feeling nostalgic. If they squinted, the skyline resembled a soft bell shape like Olivine City surrounded by a glimmering sea. Even though they never found what they were looking for, the whole trip had been worth it -- the new species of Pokemon they'd met, the culture of kindness, and especially the apparent absence of organized crime.

 

Battling Pokemon for a living meant travelling constantly and living a strange, adventurous, and exhausting life. Since they first set out on their journey as a kid, Harvest had visited nearly every global region. The little girl that left New Bark Town years ago had become a seasoned pokemon trainer with their share of hard takes and battle scars. They didn’t have much of a reputation, choosing instead to drift between regions and rise to any challenges that stood in their way. Alola kept them busy and it was enough to get them out of their own head.

 

The previous month of island hopping had passed so quickly that they felt like they had only just arrived. Every town and landmark had its own little adventure: the missing Lillipup at the resort, the wild Aerodactyl rampaging north of the Lush Jungle, and even a massive cave-in caused by a distressed Dugtrio colony. In the northern regions they were used to winning by chance and barely scraping by unscathed, but each day in Alola seemed to have a happy ending. Harvest was hardwired to be on edge, skeptical of wherever their travels led them, but every crisis was resolved, every loose end tied up. The islands were different.

 

They plopped down in the sand, letting their recently caught Wimpod out to crawl around beside them. Hopefully their stay in Hau’oli City would be more relaxing. Having some time to go try on clothes or do a restaurant crawl sounded like the way to go. There looked to be a nice little hostel just outside of the shopping district that they could afford for a few days. The thought of an actual bed with a real pillow had Harvest’s eyes drifting shut instantly.

 

The ebbing surf splashed Wimpod's tail ever so slightly, startling the small bug. Harvest chuckled, clicking their tongue and rubbing his smooth, silvery shell.

 

“You're a water type, right? That's nothing to be scared of-” He blinked up at them with large, uncertain yellow eyes. “...I still don't know what to name you.” They sighed. The wimpod rooted around in the sand next to their bare feet. “Aah!” They kicked their legs into the air.  “No, don’t!” Wimpod shuddered at their sudden outburst and Harvest quickly softened their voice. “I'm sorry, buddy, I was joking! It's okay, I'm not mad! Just try not to tickle my feet…”

 

Wimpod blinked at them before turning his wide-eyed gaze past their shoulder. Harvest immediately got _a prickly_ feeling, sensing another person in their peripheral.

 

They turned their head to look sidelong at a tall, sinister-looking guy. He might have looked more imposing if his clothes actually fit him, or if he didn't slouch so damn much.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Where'd you get him?” His voice was rough.

 

Harvest blinked, giving him a once-over. He may as well have stepped right out of a faded police station poster. His fluffy white hair and cartoony sunglasses were a dead giveaway. “I caught him,” they replied slowly.

 

“No shit!” His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise before his expression fell flat again. It was definitely the same guy. “I'm askin’ _how_ you did it.”

 

They were used to weird, irritable men with criminal records, but Harvest was certain the former Team Skull boss was way more eccentric than Silver _or_ his deadbeat dad.

 

Rather than recounting their entire night spent crouching and freezing behind a rock next to the ocean, they replied, “just being patient, I guess.”

 

The man rolled his darkened eyes. He grumbled, nudging some sand with the toe of his sneaker.

 

The initial nervousness of their encounter wore off and they almost felt bad for the guy. His group was apparently forced to disband some time before Harvest arrived in the region. It seemed he had been by himself for quite a while just based on how he struggled to make conversation. They were in the same boat more often than not.

 

Harvest rubbed Wimpod’s tail as he dozed, absently staring off into the surf. Their Pokemon seemed oddly calm in spite of the nearby stranger. “So, you come here for a reason?”

 

“This’s a public beach last time I checked.”

 

“Fair enough. Got a name?”

 

He snorted bitterly, “never heard of me, huh?”

 

“Nope, just saw your mugshots.” They stood, swiping the wet sand off the seat of their shorts.

 

“Guzma.” Way less flashy of an introduction than they were waiting for - he came off as someone who’d call himself an ‘agent of destruction’ or something.

 

“I'm Harvest. How's a 3 on 3 sound?”

 

He suddenly grinned like a predator, barely flashing his canines. “Damn, you get to it.” The sight of him seemingly possessed by his own competitive spirit made their stomach jolt. “Yeah, I'm down.”

 

Since their first Pokemon, Cyndaquil, Harvest always had a particular fondness for fire-types. Typhlosion remained on reserve in their belt since the beginning. Guzma, squatting above the sand, trying to remain cool, had a brief moment of awe at the sight of him. He was particularly large for his kind, and stood poised, relaxed and breathing perfectly in sync with Harvest.

 

Golisopod's first impression had a similar effect on Harvest, though much of it was excitement at knowing their Wimpod could eventually become such a badass looking creature. Wimpod was cowering down the front of Harvest’s overalls, shivering and clinging to their shirt. Harvest briefly imagined a guy like Guzma sweetly nurturing a helpless little Wimpod.

 

They and Typhlosion both managed to dodge a boiling hot jet of water. Thankfully, Golisopod was still a bug type. Typhlosion gave a spirited roar before unleashing hell fire on the hulking armored creature. Golisopod retreated after the damage he sustained; a Pinsir seamlessly took his place and, after a brief struggle, managed to clamp his enormous claws around Typhlosion’s mid-section. As hard as he struggled, he wasn't strong enough to wrench himself from Pinsir's iron grip. Harvest frantically called Typholsion back just before the sickening crunch.

 

Steelix was another old stand-by. Harvest met her as an Onix, lost in a cave not far from their home town. That day, Cyndaquil had been poisoned and was near fainting. Blinded by tears and pitch darkness, they wandered into the Onix's nest. Harvest begged her to let them pass so they could help Cyndaquil, promising not to bother her. The enormous rock snake charged after them anyway. They didn't realize it at the time, but Onix purposefully herded them out of the cave to safety and waited for them to return.

 

Guzma yelped indignantly when Steelix knocked Pinsir out with a well placed swing of her massive tail.

 

Harvest grinned up at their old friend, returning her to her great ball while Guzma faintly cursed his bad judgment. “Last one, dude.” They called to him.

 

“Yeah, I ain’t asleep over here! Geez!” His gravelly voice snapped from down the beach.

 

He released a Scizor. For a moment, Harvest felt a little silly for their final pick, but they couldn't resist the little guy. He was making such a ruckus in his pokeball just _hearing_ the sounds of battle. He was likely at a lower level, but they hoped his type advantage would make up for it.

 

“Are you _fucking joking??_ ” Guzma shouted, voice nearly cracking, as Harvest called out their third.

 

They shrugged, trying not to smile while their Rockruff wagged his fluffy tail. Their opponent looked furious, but he was clearly amused at the sight of the eager puppy standing proudly before his Scizor. They weren't sure how Guzma was capable of such a cocktail of emotions.

 

He demanded a bullet punch ”to knock that stupid mutt into last week,” which Harvest wasn't about to allow.

 

The severe-looking insect was closing in when Harvest suddenly shouted, “Dig, boy!!”

 

Rockruff let out an overjoyed woof. Scizor’s punch connected with air just before the ground collapsed into a horrifying sand pit beneath it. Guzma recalled his pokemon, screaming some kind of obscenity and tossing handfuls of sand into the air.

 

A very sandy Rockruff bounded up to Harvest, giving them kisses and pressing wet, sandy pawprints on their clothes. “Aww, what a good boy! Yes, you are!” They cooed, dusting him off.

 

Rockruff was back in his ball by the time Guzma got his shit together and made his way back over to them. Good thing, because he looked ready to murder the puppy that did his team in. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, posture sullen and rigid, clearly put off at himself.

 

Harvest couldn’t help but feel awkward, but gave him a customary bow. “Thank you for the battle.”

 

Guzma looked startled by the gesture, blinking in uncertainty. “Uh… Yeah, you too. Good job.”

 

The sun had finally set during their battle. Harvest could barely see him in the low light. “Say, are you local?” His heavy, tired eyes kind of looked off to the side before he nodded. He didn't look as intimidating up close, just kind of worn out. “Know any decent places to get a bed?”

 

He stood a solid six inches taller than them, but shrunk back just a little. They weren't sure why this guy was acting so shy, rubbing the back of his head almost nervously. “There's a motel up route 2. Nothin’ fancy, but it's got a shower.”

 

Harvest raised an eyebrow. “What, do I smell?”

 

He opened his mouth to say something and paused. “...A little,” Guzma smirked. “I can buy you some food before you go, alright?”

 

Their eyes narrowed, heart skipping a little. Except for Silver, no one ever bought them food. “What for?” It was probably normal in Alola to just treat someone to dinner for all they knew.

 

“You won our battle and I've got 500p to my name.”

 

Any pleasant, nervous feelings rushed out of them immediately. “I probably shouldn't ask who you keep challenging.” It sounded meaner than they meant.

 

He pulled a face. “Tch. Ya don't even know that kid -- the champ, she's a beast.” Harvest heaved a sigh and shouldered their large camping pack. Guzma fidgeted a little, taking a breath. “Look, ya want dinner or what?”

 

As much as they hated getting shafted out of prize money, they’d been in his situation before and it seemed right to be cool about it. “Yeah, alright. You owe me a rematch when you're not broke, got it?”

 

That earned them a small, possibly genuine smile. Harvest felt the tension dissipate. “Yeah, yeah. Deal.”

  


It might have been the seriously underage looking boy at the malasada counter, or maybe it was Guzma feeling weird after the whole ‘being a criminal’ thing, but he was being extra cagey ordering food. The paper menu was crumpled between his hands while he stood there, lips pressed into a perfectly straight line. Harvest hung behind him, trying to be polite and give him space even though their stomach was audibly growling.

 

“Take your time!” The little boy chirped.

 

“I _am_ ,” Guzma said through gritted teeth. “ _Thanks_.” He threw a glance behind him at Harvest and whispered, “c’mon whaddya want?”

 

They sidled up beside him, pressing their face against his arm, trying to make sense of the menu. Guzma went stiff as a board and Harvest felt an evil little twinge of excitement knowing they were pushing his buttons. He rolled his shoulders a bit, not really pushing them away but squirming enough for them to get the hint.

 

“Just pick already.” He muttered.

 

“Alright, alright. Sweet malasada sounds good.” Harvest said it more to the boy behind the counter, who happily pressed a few buttons before refocusing his eager face on Guzma. “I'll just...go grab a seat.”

 

They slid into a little red chair at a small table in the corner of the shop, letting Wimpod scuttle out onto the table. After such a long time on the road, it was nice to spend time with another person even _if_ he was a reformed criminal. It made them feel nostalgic in a strange way. Harvest shook their head, trying to lose the thought. As messed up as it was, they definitely had an obsession with Team Rocket when they were younger. It wasn't fair to continue mentally labelling Guzma as a criminal when he had obviously suffered in his attempts to re-enter civil society.

 

Guzma looked visibly calmer when he sat down across from Harvest and wordlessly slid them a cup of spring water.

 

“Oh, thanks.” They were a little surprised at the gesture, realizing how dehydrated they must have looked.

 

He shrugged a little, fiddling with the straw paper Harvest dropped.

 

They took a long sip of water, watching his hands. He bit his nails down and his knuckles were scarred -- anxious and angry. They noticed the vivid purple ink on his forearms. “What are those?”

 

He kept futzing with the straw paper. “Tats I guess I'm never getting rid of.”

 

They hummed. “Dunno...I think they look pretty cool.”

 

“Tch. Wish _I_ still did.” Harvest hummed awkwardly, loudly sipping their water. His eyes flicked up to meet theirs briefly. “Where the hell are you from, anyway?”

 

“Small town in Johto.”

 

“Why’re you all the way down here?”

 

“Been travelling for the past 10 years.”

 

He seemed to consider it for a moment, rubbing at his jaw with the palm of his hand. “That sounds like a fuckton of work.”

 

“It's not for everyone. I've got good travel partners.” Harvest patted their belt.

 

A ghost of a sneer tugged at his lips. “What kinda training you do?”

 

He wasn't about to admit that Harvest had a kick-ass team, but he was clearly impressed enough to ask. “Mostly just surviving out in the wild, lame as it sounds.”

 

He openly laughed at that. “That ain't lame, sis, that's hardcore. Shit, no wonder you're all hyped up about a bed.” He briefly looked them in the face and they noticed his dark grey eyes. “Guess you're sick of the wilderness by now.”

 

“Kinda. People around here are real cool, though.” He pulled a face; they probably said that to the wrong guy. “I like it here.”

 

“Good. Alola’s a nice place.” Guzma smiled thinly.

 

They didn't talk much after that, focusing instead on tearing into their food. He seemed as hungry as they were.

 

Harvest shared a piece of soft fried dough with Wimpod, who sighed happily but really seemed to go for the piece Guzma nudged toward him.

 

He explained that most bug pokemon couldn’t taste sweet things, but sour stuff would give them a “fizzy” feeling. Before they knew it, he was listing off which berries Wimpod preferred specifically and why they're some of the hardest Pokemon to please, let alone capture. It was oddly charming how animated and _happy_ he seemed talking to them about the intricacies of raising Pokemon.

 

Harvest knew asking about Team Skull would piss him off, but they were legitimately curious about what kind of crimes they had committed. Team Rocket was notorious for abusing and exploiting Pokemon, but that line of work seemed less likely to appeal to Guzma.

 

Reputations had never held much weight in Harvest's mind when choosing who to associate with - it was a side effect of growing up and realizing just how corrupt their tiny world was. Their relationship with Silver quashed notions of _good_ and _bad_ trainers. After taking the title of Champion in Johto and Kanto, Harvest became a hero, a perfect foil to a ruthless thief like Silver. As Harvest watched him mature and come to terms with his anger toward Giovanni, however, their image of him changed. Harvest's image of themself changed, too.

 

Perhaps Alola had its own dividing line between winners and losers among young trainers, driving children down vastly different paths in life.

 

Wimpod chirped proudly while Guzma pointed out his favorite places to be scratched. The normally wary bug and the tired, surly looking man looked so at ease, completely different from when they met him an hour and a half before.

  


They didn't part ways afterwards as they should have. Travelling in the dark wasn't an issue for someone who grew up walking through the woods making friends with Hoothoots and Venonats just to get groceries. Still, that devious little part of Harvest’s brain insisted Guzma walk them all the way to the motel since it was already nightfall.

 

He didn't protest, surprisingly. They strolled beneath the street lamps, from spotlight to spotlight. Wimpod dozed, cradled in Guzma’s hood. He pointed out buildings and points of interest in spite of himself. They were probably walking too close to him, trying to feel the fabric of their clothes brush together. That familiar, heavy feeling in their heart was dangerous. They had never really fought it.

 

“When are you outta here again?”

 

“I'm set to leave for Unova tomorrow.”

 

Guzma nodded and they walked a bit further before he said, “I'm glad this little guy has you. I hope you can remember your time here while ya travel with him.”

 

“That's extremely nice of you.” Harvest stopped to pull one of their socks up, trying to hide their flushed cheeks. He mumbled something about needing to shut his damn mouth. “Why are you being so extremely nice to me, anyway?”

 

He looked away. “I need a reason?”

 

They couldn't help but stare at the red X across his back, the old Team Skull brand still visible underneath. “Just curious.” Harvest had to jog to catch up with him.

 

Guzma furrowed his thick brows. “You said you travel a lot.” He avoided their questioning look. “Just that I’d want someone to be cool to me if I was doin’ what you’re doin’.”

 

They smiled softly. “Thinking about heading off yourself one day?”

 

He gave them a quick glance. “Hell if I know...”

 

Harvest nodded and they resumed their hike, leaving the lights of the city for the quiet grassy route to the motel. For a while, the only sound was chirping off in the trees and the coarse dirt road crunching beneath their shoes. Thoughts were burning through their mind faster than they could understand. It had been a long time since someone had gone out of their way for them. Normally they would be wary of someone like him approaching them and sticking around the way he did, but the uneasy feeling they expected never came.

 

Guzma walked ahead once again, keeping his head down; it was a familiar sight they tended to associate with men. The hard line of his shoulders made them think of how Silver grew up and left them behind. Red called it quits and they watched him leave the same way. It wasn't fair to keep comparing Guzma to them and it wasn't okay to compare someone they had just met to two former lovers.

 

The motel sat further up the hill. It was warmly lit on the outside, painted white like many Alolan homes, with some tasteful deep blue accents.

 

It seemed to hit them both at the same time when they finally stood outside the door of the motel office. They had to part ways. If they both went in, it would look like they were a couple. His brief eye contact with Harvest confirmed he was thinking the same thing. They both hesitated for longer than was appropriate.

 

“So, uh, you got a place?” Harvest muttered.

 

He wouldn’t look at them. “I got places to crash.”

 

They felt their stomach drop. What _happened_ to this guy? He stood across from them, nervously rubbing his roughed up knuckles against the palm of his hand.

 

“It's late. You can share the room -- I don't mind.”

 

He held up a hand. “Ya don't need to do that. Ain't safe for someone traveling alone.”

 

“You need a place to stay as much as I do.”

 

The corner of his wide mouth twitched. “You got no idea what I need, sis.”

 

It seemed like guilt just followed him wherever he went and their meeting him, strange as it was, began to make sense to Harvest. Whatever he did, whatever he'd been through, was a mystery to them. All they knew was he didn't have a home to go to and no one deserved to be out on the streets by themselves.

 

They frowned. “No. You’re staying with.” Guzma opened his mouth to argue. “Don't even think about bailing on me!”

 

They disappeared inside the motel office leaving Guzma frozen at the bottom of the concrete steps behind them. Harvest's heart was pounding while they exchanged cash for a room -- the last room on the end.

 

He was still there when they returned, sitting at the bottom of the steps. He could have easily run off while they were inside, but he didn't. The big red X on his back glared up at them. Wimpod stretched and nuzzled deeper into Guzma’s hood.

 

They tossed him the key.

  


The door closed and Harvest immediately felt tension cloud the room. The sight of the bed, however, spoke to a deeper desire to rest their aching body after a long day of walking. They dropped their heavy backpack where they stood and headed straight for the bathroom. Part of their urgency stemmed from the dried sweat caked all over their body, the rest had to do with the ex-gang boss they insisted spend the night with them.

 

Their hands shook as they peeled their clothing off. Harvest caught a glimpse of their tan lines in the mirror, suddenly feeling very self conscious. They looked pretty good from an objective standpoint, but their body was a patchwork of skin tones, scrapes, and bruises. Cold, brackish water shocked them out of their thoughts.

 

“Fuck,” Harvest grumbled, toweling their hair. Guzma, having heard them, grunted curiously. “I, uh...I left my clothes out there.”

 

An awkward pause followed.

 

“S’okay. I won't look at ya.”

 

They swallowed hard. “I'm coming out, then.”

 

He was laying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling fan. His tattooed arms were folded behind his head. He actually looked relaxed.

 

“Sorry I shouted at you earlier.” They pulled a soft white tee on.

 

“Do I look like I'm complainin’?” He huffed a laugh, not budging from his reclined position. “Trust, I'd'a left if I really wanted to.”

 

“Fair enough,” Harvest muttered, rifling through their backpack for some shorts. “Not trying to be nosy, but what do you usually do for the night?”

 

“Like I said, I got places to crash.”

 

They expected he'd be cagey. Harvest pulled their shorts on and made their way over to sit on the coffee table next to the couch. “Sorry.”

 

He cracked an eye open to look at them. “No one asks me much. Usually get dirty looks or ignored.” He grinned lazily. While resting, he'd slipped his glasses off and his hair had fallen over his eyes in a weirdly flattering way. He looked them up and down. “What's up with you? Got a thing for criminals or somethin’?”

 

“No! I mean,” Harvest swallowed, their throat feeling oddly dry. “I grew up battling Team Rocket. It's...more of a fascination.”

 

He suddenly swung his legs off of the couch, nearly cackling while he stood up. “Man, a _fascination_! That's a new one.”

 

“Wh-” Harvest felt their stomach jerk. “I'm not talking about you!”

 

Guzma paused to look back at them, leaning against the bathroom door. “What, I ain't a fetish? You didn't just pick me up for a pity fuck?” His voice was raw, heavy with sarcasm.

 

“No.”

 

“My beaten down ass don't do it for ya?!” He spread his arms wide, gesturing down at himself. “Some invincible, lonely chick like you? Fuckin’ PLEASE!” He pounded his fist into the door frame. “Bet ya have fucked up thoughts about a buncha dudes in uniforms tyin’ ya up -- makin’ ya feel powerles-”

 

The distance between them closed in an instant. Harvest's fist connected, knocking him square in the jaw with a dull _thud_. The severe look in his eyes when he turned back to them was unnerving -- he looked ready to hit them back. He was breathing heavily, jaw set. Guzma dipped a finger into his mouth, finding a bit of blood where they hit him.

 

Their voice shook. “I don't see you as a criminal, but you're definitely a fuckin’ asshole.”

 

Harvest yelped as he grabbed the collar of their shirt and roughly shoved them back toward the bed. They landed on their ass, shocked by the sudden weight of him pressing onto them. He was on top of them as quick as they had clocked him, pinning their wrists above their head. The closeness made them hyper aware of the warmth of Guzma’s body and the heat between their legs.

 

His intense grey eyes didn't leave theirs for a second.

 

“You're not a criminal,” they whispered.

 

Guzma's free hand took their chin a little roughly. “Anymore.”

 

They nudged upward, licking right into his mouth and tasting malasada. Guzma slid his tongue against theirs, kissing them hard. The slick pressure of his lips against theirs seemed to kill any loneliness they had ever felt. Harvest felt that faint but familiar warmth spreading in their chest; it was hard to breathe.

 

Neither of them wanted to talk about what they were doing; their movements escalated instead. Harvest was all about technique and teasing while he was just an incredibly rough and sloppy kisser. Guzma was assertive but obviously unsure of himself in the way he kept starting and stopping. It seemed to be a pattern with the guy.

 

The barbell in his over-long tongue kept clacking against their teeth when he kissed them. They tasted a faint tang of blood in his saliva from where they hit him. Everything about him was overwhelming, dominating their senses.

 

They felt him stiff against their thigh and huffed a laugh against his chest.

 

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

 

“I’m not makin’ fun of you.” Harvest reached up to shove his hoodie off over his shoulders.

“Fucks sake,” he growled as he slid a rough hand beneath the soft fabric of their shirt. “‘Course I’m hard, the hell’d you take me back here for?”

 

“This, I guess,” they hissed as he roughly twisted their nipple.

 

“You _guess_?” Guzma’s outrage was muffled against their shoulder. His body pressed them harder into the mattress. “What’s your deal, Johto-”

 

They cut him off with a gentle kiss. “Quit holding back.”

 

His face went bright red. “Man, you’re weird.” Harvest grinned and he couldn't help but chuckle softly. “Not like I ain't.”

 

He quickly jerked their shirt up to their neckline while Harvest tugged his shirt up over his head. Guzma wasted no time in feeling them up, daring to kiss and lick their bare skin. He had a little bit of a gut -- the guy had obviously been fit but he let himself go just enough to be soft. They stroked down over his hip bones and fiddled with the waistband of his sweats.

 

It had been ages since they'd been with another person, let alone one who handled them so easily. The way things had escalated had their head swimming with thoughts, doubts, hormones and even the way his skin smelled like he'd been out in the sun. Still, that red X kept popping up in their mind.

 

“You ok?”

 

They blinked, refocusing on Guzma reclined on his side with a tent in his briefs. They propped their elbow on his shoulder,  lifting his absurd glasses from where they'd fallen over his eyes. “You pulled some real shit on these islands, didn't you?”

 

Their words were an obvious blow to his enthusiasm. “Yeah.”

 

“I'm your safe lay, then.” Harvest snorted, flicking the tip of his nose. “Typical.” They chuckled in response to his yelp of pain.

 

“Safe my ass, ya fuckin’ decked me.” Guzma rubbed his nose. “Trust...Never seen someone who looks like you and talks to bugs like you do.”

 

“Sure.” Harvest snorted.

 

“No joke,” he swiped his glasses off, regarding Harvest with his sharp gaze. He looked as calm as he probably ever did. “You're kinda my type.”

 

What was it about rare sincerity that got to them so easy? Silver and Red were like that, too. They'd posture and posture until Harvest got fed up and then they would spring a confession like “I always liked you” or “I was staring at you the whole time we were battling”.

 

“I don't think I'm anyone's type-”

 

He quickly kissed their forehead. “I fuckin’ like you. Chill.”

 

It made their heart jump a little. Harvest laughed. To think they were planning to leave the next day. They tilted their head to catch his mouth in a deep kiss. His tongue darted expertly into their mouth and they wanted more of him. Why did it always get them so high when they knew this would be it? Harvest may never have the chance to kiss him again and it made their chest hurt, but every time his lips crashed against theirs they were closer to forgetting.

 

Guzma hesitated. “Been with a guy before?”

 

“Duh.”

 

“Girl?” He ventured.

 

“Yup.”

 

“So you-”

 

“You want me to walk my ass right out of this room, _boss_?” Harvest was not about to satiate another man's curiosity. That backfired often enough for them to know better.

 

His voice got low and he leaned in close. “Fuck no. You're gonna lay right there and I'm gonna eat you out til you're begging for my cock.”

 

 _Alright_.

 

They gave an exaggerated sigh. “Alright big guy. Show me what you got.” It wasn't every day that a guy would so willingly go down on them. It was a testament to the company they'd kept that they could count the number of times someone gave them head on one hand.

 

The second Guzma flicked his tongue stud against their clit, they were totally receptive. Their sigh of approval made him grin a little before he adjusted his position between their legs. He used his thumbs to spread the soft flesh of their labia before gently working his tongue against their stiffened clit. It was the long, lazy strokes that really got them off, and he was just the type to rely on his long, deft tongue.

 

He placed a gentle kiss against their thigh before looking up at them and snickering. “You don't just gotta lay there, ya know.”

 

Harvest averted their gaze. What, did he want them yowling and moaning like a porn star?

 

“Hey.” They looked back at him, his wide pupils standing out stark against his tired eyes. “Just do what you normally do. Don't be shy.”

 

“Quit telling me how to get eaten out, bug boy.” They tugged a fistful of his fluffy white hair. Guzma gave a sharp laugh. “Get back to it.”

 

“That's what I like to hear,” he chuckled before his lips and tongue and teeth were sliding over them. They gasped, hips jerking upward slightly. “Like to hear that, too,” came his smug, muffled voice.

 

Harvest slid their hands down their torso, feeling their stomach muscles tense while Guzma hummed happily between their legs. Their fingers idly worked through his hair, scratching him gently, twirling a few white locks while he absently nudged into their palm. Their other hand cupped one of their small breasts, flicking and tweaking a dark, pert nipple.

 

It almost felt like Silver again. He sucked them off a few times and they would have one hand in his silky red hair and the other shoved up the front of their shirt. He wasn't as big as Guzma, though. Way less of a weirdo, too.

 

“You always this quiet when you fuck?”

 

Harvest glanced down to see Guzma staring up at them. He was rubbing circles against their clit with the pad of his thumb.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No good?”

 

Their eyebrows shot up, “No! No, I was just…remembering old shit. I didn't mean to… No.” His mouth stretched into a wry smile. “This is… You're…” He dipped his head down to push his tongue against them in a long, wet lick. “So much better. I've never-” Harvest cried out when he repeated the motion.

 

“Good to know,” he grinned, pushing their legs further apart.

 

He slid his tongue all the way into their slit. They could feel his gold barbell sliding inside of them. “Fuck,” Harvest whimpered throatily. Guzma pulled out and slicked his tongue all the way up and over their clit before darting it back down inside of them. They were practically twisting their nipples raw, feeling every muscle below the belt tensing, waiting for him to _do that again._

 

 _“Please_ don't stop,” they keened. “Fuck, that feels so good!”

 

Their entire body was heated and writhing under him. His hands had to have been pressing bruises against their thighs just to hold them still.

 

The sick, wet sounds he was making were driving them crazy. This guy they barely knew was tearing into them like they were the best thing he'd ever had. Harvest gasped as they rutted down onto his tongue, trying to match his speed and rhythm before they burnt out. They wanted more of him.

 

They let out a strangled, wanting moan as they finally came. Their back arched, shoving their hips forward. Guzma held them tight against his shoulders while they came down. They felt him lapping up their cum and _fuck_ why was he doing that and why did they love it.

 

“Goddamn.” He finally sat up, rubbing at his jaw.

 

The sight of his angular, tough-looking face covered in their slick was weirdly endearing. “Come here.”

 

Guzma obeyed and made a surprised little noise when Harvest began licking their cum off of his chin. He was kind of cute when they caught him off guard. He caught their lips, teasing them apart with that tongue of his, letting them taste their cum in his soft mouth. Harvest wanted him closer, the rush of having someone so intimate, not missing a beat with the weird shit that turned them on.

 

They broke apart and he nuzzled into the crook of their shoulder, wrapping his thick arms loosely around their waist.

 

Harvest struggled to splay their knees open underneath him, angling their cunt up against him. “You need to cut this cuddling shit out,” they growled, spurred on by the urge to get pounded while they were still coming down.

 

“Damn, you're rushing me, babe-”

 

Harvest replied with a frustrated grunt. He kissed the skin over their collarbones, flexing his grip against their ass. His hard length slid uselessly against their cunt: slick, still sensitive and wanting.

 

“All wet for me, ain'tcha?”

 

They stammered while he groaned smugly. “Just fuck me, Guzma-”

 

His voice was rough, rimmed with need. “Ya gonna moan for me?”

 

Harvest could have burst into tears. “Yes-”

 

He lined the swollen head up against their slit. They could have come all over again just from the promise of being pounded by his thick cock. “Say my name again.”

 

“Guzma… Please…!”

 

He kissed them deeply before sliding in. His technique got sloppy and he made a weak, needy sound. Harvest gasped as he filled and stretched them easily. Guzma had to hide his face next to theirs so they wouldn’t see him blushing and panting.

 

“You feel fuckin’ great,” he breathed hot against their cheek. “Like it rough?”

 

Harvest nodded their head yes and they could feel a wolfish grin split his face. He didn't hold back. Every thrust hit straight to their bones and he could have broken them in half if he wanted to. They clung to his chest, curled up and baring down against his hips as hard as they could, dragging out every last pulse of their orgasm.

 

“Gimme more,” Harvest panted into his shoulder, half dizzy. “Fuck me as hard as you want-” they gasped as he pounded into them with abandon. “Yes!! Guzma, th-that’s so good!”

 

They came a second time and Guzma slowed his pace. He sat up, holding their knees apart and watching Harvest cry out, cumming around his dick. His eyes were fixed on them, arching their back into the mattress while he thrusted into them savagely.

 

“Fuck-” he groaned, trying like hell to maintain his composure. His hips snapped against them erratically. “I'm gonna-”

 

They watched as Guzma pulled out, spilling his cum all over their thighs and stomach. Stands of his white hair clung to his forehead and cheeks. The faint glow from the street lamp outside caught the sheen of sweat he'd worked up.

 

They were both still, catching their breath and trying to process everything that just happened.

 

Harvest rolled out of bed from beneath him and walked briskly to the bathroom. The way they were just moaning while the ex-Team Skull Boss nearly fucked them raw had them remarkably embarrassed.

 

“Yo, Harvest.”

 

They paused, standing aimless and naked in the shower. “Yeah?”

 

“You ok?”

 

“Yeah... uh...thanks.” Harvest fumbled with the faucet. “I… Thanks.”

 

He was laughing. “Are you thanking me for sex?”

 

“No!” They yelped as a cold blast of water hit them. “I mean, it was good-”

 

“You're welcome.” He snorted. “Fuck, I'm beat,” Guzma grumbled hoarsely.

 

He was dozing on his side when they had finished bathing. Harvest gave their short hair a quick rub down before ditching their towel on an armchair. With a soft, unintelligible mumble, a bare-ass naked Guzma shuffled to his feet to use the bathroom.

 

Just sitting on a real bed hit Harvest immediately. They could have fallen asleep sitting upright - they nearly did, but Guzma sliding back in next to them shook them awake.

 

“So, uh,” His throat was a little raspy. “Sorry about the shit I said earlier.”

 

“Sorry I hit you.” Harvest gave him a slight, playful smack. “You weren't entirely wrong, you know.”

 

He was quiet, nodding his head in thought. “Fair.” Guzma ran his hands through his shock of white hair. “Made an assumption…”

 

They stroked his cheek; Guzma closed his eyes, his brows knit together as if he were trying to memorize how it felt. “No, it’s ok.”

 

“Just trying to figure out if this was a big fuck up or-”

 

They slung an arm across his chest, scooting closer to him. “I'm glad it was you.”

 

He froze. “Me too.” He finally murmured.

 

“Wanna go to sleep?”

 

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sure.”

 

“We'll both stay, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Quit fuckin’ thanking me.”

  
  


Everything rushed their senses at once. Harvest was jarred awake by the early morning sun splashing light across the floor and the distant cries of wingulls out over the cliffs.

 

Guzma had left.

 

They couldn't help their disappointment even though they had made it clear they were leaving. “Right -- the boat to Unova leaves soon.” If they hesitated, they would have to wait another week to leave.

 

As Harvest hurriedly stepped into clean clothes and stashed their dirties, they noticed a huge pile of crumpled papers in the corner next to an arm chair. The leftover cardboard from a stripped notepad lay twisted nearby. In spite of their time crunch, they unfolded one: the writing was messy but legible.

 

 _Yo. Had a good time-_ something was scribbled out. _Be safe-_ there was an even larger, messier scribble. _Ya boi, Guzma_

 

They snorted out loud. Each of the previous papers had been violently scribbled on. They had to give him credit for trying to leave a note at least.

 

Harvest gently folded the cleanest copy and slid it into their pocket as they stepped outside.


End file.
